


Blistering Scales

by Three_Gulons_In_A_Trenchcoat



Category: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger
Genre: F/M, Fitz is mentioned (uhh), Keefe is a big scary dragon, Sokeefe - Freeform, Sokeefe Fantasy AU, Sophie is a badass Valkyrie, this was just a prompt i saw a while ago, who doesn't love a love story? ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26502583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Three_Gulons_In_A_Trenchcoat/pseuds/Three_Gulons_In_A_Trenchcoat
Summary: The legend had called for a hero.The legend didn’t say it couldn’t be the dragon.Sokeefe Fantasy AU
Relationships: Sophie Foster/Keefe Sencen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Blistering Scales

So it was that as punishment for her transgressions against a tyrant king, the Valkyrie was sent into a deep enchanted sleep atop a high mountain, where she was surrounded by a ring of magical undying fire and guarded by a great dragon. Only by slaying the dragon and bathing in its blood could a warrior hope to pass through the flames to reach the fair valkyrie and take her for their bride.

…the dragon didn’t like this, naturally, but when you’re a dragon in a story, you don’t tend to have a lot of options. He slew and ate a lot of would-be suitors, would arrange their armor into interesting sculptures when bored, gingerly arched his tail over the flames and picked off the cobwebs that would form on the Valkyrie as she slept, and would spread a wing over the Valkyrie to cover her when the mountain rains would sweep over them. And he talked to her. First a few, silly, sarcastic things. Being in a deep enchanted sleep, she didn’t respond naturally.

“So… sleeping well then?”

He could only see her red and distorted through the flames. She remained unresponsive, magnificent in her armor, hair in a thick golden braid over one shoulder, her hands wrapped around the handle of a gleaming sword. 

“Can’t say I’m looking forward to the whole ‘Getting slain’ thing,” the dragon went on, “How do you feel about it? I mean I’m not asking you to weep for me but…it seems unfair.”

Days and days passed and between different brave warriors who would come and challenge him, the dragon talked to her more and more.

“They’re getting quicker,” he said to her, licking at one of his wounds, “Not quick enough. But I’m sure one of these days one of them will kill me and you’ll be out of this mess. Can’t imagine how bored you are… But don’t you give up hope!”

Weeks and weeks passed. The sculptures of slain adventurers’ armor grew more and more complex. The dragon would fix them into arches and towers and large abstract figures that would cast haunting shadows on the mountain, and of course, he would slay adventurer after adventurer. None of them were strong enough. None of them were worthy.

“What if you don’t like the warrior that slays me?” said the dragon, picking arrows out of his flank, “What if they’re horrible and rude and cruel? Do you still have to wed them?”

The Valkyrie did not respond. More time passed.

The dragon watched the stars wheel overhead.

“I wish you could see this,” he said, looking at the sleeping valkyrie, “My friend taught me all the draconic constellations–we have hundreds of our own, you know. That one’s earth-shaker,” he pointed at different stars with his tail, “That one’s sea-watcher, the one in the west with the star that winks silver and blue right there? Moon-eye.” 

He glanced at the valkyrie through the flames and sighed.

“It’s not right,” he said to himself, looking back at the stars, “You should see this too…”

He bowed his head. “The legend said you might be sleeping for hundreds of years. What will the world be like for you in that time, I wonder?”

There was no response, only the continued roar of the ring of fire. The dragon sighed. More weeks passed. More heroes were slain. It was getting to the point that the dragon was wishing one of them could just put a pike through his skull and be done with it, but he knew that wasn’t how it worked. The hero had to give it his all, and the same went for the dragon.

“Of course we don’t always end up guarding beautiful maidens on top of mountains,” the dragon said, lying on his back next to the circle of flames another few weeks later, watching the clouds pass overhead, “My friend has got a fine horde somewhere, last I heard. Lots of treasure. He’s razing countrysides, burning towns to the ground. Doing very well for himself as far as dragons go.”

The Valkyrie said nothing, still in her enchanted sleep.

“You’re a very good listener,” said the Dragon.

Months and months passed. In winter the dragon made sculptures of snow and ice around the mountaintop, though with the ring of fire so close by they all melted rather quickly. In spring he gathered mountain wildflowers and described their colors to the valkyrie. In summer he shaded her with his wings from the blazing sun. In fall he described the changing colors of the trees of the valley below to her, and still, the Valkyrie slept. The dragon at this point had built an impressive tower out of the armor of felled heroes and adventurers, as well as a statue of himself, and another statue of the valkyrie. They were high-fiving. 

“Sorry if that seems presumptuous,” said the dragon, as he shook a charred skeletal hand out of a gauntlet and used it to complete the valkyrie statue’s arm. 

“What if the warrior that slays me doesn’t know the whole story?” said the dragon, “What if they slay me and they don’t know the bit about my blood and burn themselves up in the fire? What if they’re just rescuing you because it’s the right thing to do and they’re married or they prefer the company of men?” The dragon stopped himself. “…Rescuing you is the right thing to do, isn’t it?” he said, unsure if he was talking to himself, or to her. 

The valkyrie, of course, didn’t respond. 

The dragon stepped close to the fire and reached a claw out toward it. He winced back at the heat of the flames and shook out his claw. “Ouch. Right. Magic,” he said to himself. He looked at the Valkyrie. He could fly over the flames, but the specific words were that someone with the blood of the dragon had to pass through the flames to break the spell. Well… I mean technically I do have the blood of the dragon, he thought, No one said the dragon couldn’t pass through the flames.

He took another tentative step forward the flames, then took a deep breath, steeled himself, and walked forward.

The flames devoured him.

Well… most of him. They licked at his sides, chewed away at his massive form, but he kept pressing forward. He watched his lovely ice-blue scales peel off and float upward borne aloft on hot air, he felt one of his gleaming silver-gray horns turn brittle and break off from the heat. One by one he felt the spikes of the crest that trailed down his spine burn and crumble away. He felt the skin exposed past the scales blister and bubble and scar but still, he pressed onward. He felt his tail, his handsome tail that he was so proud, of break off and crackle and burn behind him. Eventually, the ground itself was so unbearably hot that the dragon forced himself from walking on four legs to walking on two. He felt his wide and glorious wings burn away like tissue paper, and the bony frames they left behind blackened and broke down as well. They burned and burned and burned away at him until he reached the other side, and then the burning stopped.

All that remained of the dragon was a man…well sort of. He was still scaly in parts, with eyes still blue with slitted pupils, one horn still remaining, but the fire had burned away nearly all of his magical dragon exterior to leave a mortal man. He looked at his hands, one of flesh, blistered and burned but human, and one blue and clawed, trying to make sense of himself. It was then he realized that the air had grown unsettlingly quiet. There was no roar of flames. He glanced behind himself to see the ring of fire all but gone, then he turned on his heel to see her.

The valkyrie was awake. The spell was broken. She stared at him. He stared at her. She had the most gorgeous gold-brown eyes.

“Oh–” he said, “You’re awake. I’m–” he cleared his throat, “Some of the legends said that a hero had to remove your helmet and cut off your chainmail to be awoken, and some of the other legends said you had to be kissed. I’m glad I didn’t have to–I mean–Not that kissing you is a terrible thing in and of itself, it just seemed invasi–”

“Your voice,” the Valkyrie said, swinging her legs over the bier of shields she had been sleeping on. 

“…my what?” said the dragon. The Valkyrie wobbled on her feet and the dragon rushed forward and helped her stand.

“You’re the one who’s been keeping me company all this time,” the Valkyrie said with a smile, “My dragon. I would have gone mad months ago trapped in my own body without you talking to me.”

“You… you could hear everything,” said the dragon, his eyes wide in shock.

“Everything,” said the valkyrie with a smile.

“…I’ve said some very stupid things,” said the dragon.

“Oh terribly stupid,” said the Valkyrie. And she reached forward and took his clawed hand in hers. The dragon glanced down at her hand.

“What was it you were saying about kissing me?” said the Valkyrie.

“…that it wasn’t terrible?” said the dragon.

The Valkyrie placed a hand on the side of his face, where a smattering of blue scales trailed from the corner of his mouth to one of his blue pointed ears.

“I should hope not,” said the Valkyrie.

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Kissing her wasn’t terrible. It was very far from terrible. He leaned into it, returning the kiss and embracing her.

The legend had called for a hero.

The legend didn’t say it couldn’t be the dragon.


End file.
